


Never Dare Tell

by skb2n



Category: Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics)
Genre: M/M, More plot than porn, POV Donald Duck, but very very brief dubcon, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25110007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skb2n/pseuds/skb2n
Summary: Donald didn't know what would kill him first, the island or his uncle, but he was about to find out.
Relationships: Donald Duck/Scrooge McDuck
Comments: 13
Kudos: 63





	Never Dare Tell

**Author's Note:**

> [ Inspired by a very generous CuriousCat prompt that was meant to be shorter but woopsie! This story is a little weird and cheesy but I hope you enjoy :') ]

* * *

In the thick of a lush island forest, on the hunt for a prized artifact locals warned not to pursue, Donald was caught between a rock and a hard place—literally.

“Nephew, are you alright?”

Without being able to see, Donald waved frantically in the direction of his uncle’s voice in order to signal that, while mostly unscathed, he _was_ still suspended in a tangle of vines mere moments away from a perilous drop.

“I’m stuck.”

He startled at sudden warmth on his tail feathers from what felt like curved mahogany, most likely that way due to a day of use. Scrooge seemed to be attempting to hook his cane onto plant fibers in order to yank Donald back to safety, but the process wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped. The cane, surprisingly blunt in its edges, poked and prodded his exhausted body and got his feet no closer to the ground. Several harsh taps against his tired muscles had him hissing under his breath, wondering if the old bastard was doing it on purpose. One of the attempts hit a sensitive area by his rump, causing him to jostle within the vines and emit an embarrassing sound he prayed went unheard. 

It was safe to say he was far from alright.

“Watch where you poke that thing!” he exclaimed, grateful he couldn’t look his uncle in the face, but not so grateful for the view of a deadly pit below.

“Well this’d be easier if you just stopped wriggling. Getting my no-brains nephew out of an amateur trap wasn’t on my list for this excursion.”

His potential grave crept closer and closer into his anxious sights, and while there was something in Scrooge’s voice that eased his mind even now, he neither expected nor wanted to die in an abyssal hole.

“Look, I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to y—”

Donald’s words choked back in his throat as he was forcefully repelled to land. His vision went black for a moment, with his hands and body being his only measures of where he crashed, and he wasted no time to feel around like a madman in case he ended up somewhere worse. But when the touch of soft fabric came into contact with his fingertips, his eyes shot wide open with relief.

As soon as the world stopped spinning and his ears stopped ringing from the collision, he craned his sore neck up to see his uncle glaring right back at him. It was only a portion of the old duck’s wild expression, a bit too obscured by the underside of his beak, but Donald knew well enough what was attached to that scowl.

And he had never been so happy to see it.

“Thanks for breaking my fall,” he expressed with a sheepish grin. 

“Save it.”

Before Donald could scramble off, Scrooge planted a firm palm to his chest and pushed him to the side. Still dizzy from the last several minutes of chaos, he slowly rose to his feet and waited in tow as his uncle did the same. 

“What, don’t want the glory for saving my life?” 

“It gets a little stale when I’m doing it every other month.

In truth he was more annoyed than thankful to have been saved, but he couldn’t deny the inexplicable way it made him feel closer to his uncle. 

“Anyway, thanks. I mean it.”

Scrooge scooped up the overstuffed backpack Donald had been carrying before he was suspended in midair and threw it over, effectively cutting off his train of thought. He just barely caught it in his arms, though his chest did most of the catching given the thing was almost bigger than him.

“Let’s keep moving,” Scrooge urged with no concern for Donald’s gratitude. “We can set up camp a few paces north.”

Donald followed Scrooge’s extended cane with his eyes to a mountainous path no doubt covered in danger, even if its peak appeared to fare better. He slung the backpack over his achy shoulders and leaned into a heavy sigh. 

“What’s wrong with setting up here?”

Scrooge tutted and whipped around, dipping his cane under Donald’s beak and lifting it so he had nowhere else to look but into his uncle’s fiery irises. 

His heart traded places with his stomach.

“Time is of the essence, dear nephew, and we need to make headway while it’s still light out. I can’t risk some nosy thieves snatching up my aurumated infinidiamond.” 

Donald stared down the length of Scrooge’s cane and impulsively swatted it away like it was about to sever a vein, and then they were glowering at each other again.

“But we already cleared enough of the area, and it’s not even that light out anymore. That...whatever-rock treasure’s not going anywhere.”

Scrooge tamped his cane into the earth as if signing a bold period to their conversation.

“This is a business trip, which means you’re still on the clock. And I would hope I don’t need to remind you that employees do as their bosses tell them to. We’re moving north.” 

Donald stilled, unsure of who should go next, or what they should even do. So he waited, and gawked, and felt an unusual heat form in the place where his stomach used to sit. As he was wont to do around his uncle lately. 

Luckily for him Scrooge made the next move, marching eagerly into the island’s flora with a shimmy in his tail feathers. Donald used it as a marker for keeping pace, and as his eyes shifted around simple yet defining features, he realized he had been here too many times before. Trailing Scrooge on countless adventures, hiding in the miser’s shadow on personal vendettas—the common thread was the sight of his uncle’s back. It was familiar despite its cold and distant nature, always one step forward while Donald was two steps back. He’d get close, but not close enough. Within arm’s reach millions of miles away. 

Though if he had to admit, it wasn’t a bad view, even if he wished he could see more.

Except.

He knew he couldn’t admit it. He knew he couldn’t see more. This was still his uncle he was mulling over, and no matter what good, bad, or downright unspeakable opinions he had of the guy, he couldn’t risk ruining that relationship. It didn’t matter if he saw a glimmer of ulterior motive in those mischievous eyes or random bouts of affection, Uncle Scrooge was Uncle Scrooge. He relied on him for too much, and that might all go away with one slip of the tongue. To him, it was a problem with an obvious solution, one that had him subsisting on only stolen glances and private thoughts.

Which was much easier said than done.

“You know,” Donald began when a mood struck him amid their tense silence, “I recall you telling me we were going on an exotic vacation, not a business trip.”

“And I recall you saying you’d make it up to me before I saved your hide.”

Donald bit his tongue. “You heard that?”

“You weren’t exactly being subtle about it. Besides, these ears are fresh yet. They hear more than you know.”

His feathers frayed in sudden anxiety. All the more reason to stay mum, he convinced himself. 

“I think me going along with this crazy ride is more than enough.”

“You coming along is an employee and familial obligation.”

Donald threw his head back with an exasperated groan and forced his legs to go on without him.

“I’ve practically done all the work so far.”

Before he could get another grumble in, all air escaped his lungs as his chest slammed into an immovable force. He prepared a rambling cuss, stopping only when he made sense of the thing that was holding him back.

“Don’t take another step,” Scrooge warned with his drawn out cane before pointing it somewhere in front of them. “See that?”

Donald massaged his torso and squinted at a cluster of trees.

“Um...giant leaves?”

He heard his uncle suck his teeth, and in an instant he was pulled by the cheeks and angled right by him. 

“There, in the underbrush, shining almost as bright as the gold in my Money Bin.”

His eyes darted around incredulously, but sure enough, they landed upon an unusual figure hiding in plain sight. Much of the light gleaming off it obscured its details, but from what Donald could gather, it took on the shape of a fennec fox crossed with a jackalope, sized like a puma. It didn’t make sense how its fur could reflect a brilliant aura like that, but given the frequent offbeat nature of their travels, he accepted it at face value. 

“What is it?” he asked, his head remaining sandwiched between his uncle’s palms.

“Ancient legends told of a guardian in these parts, no doubt protecting whatever’s in that treasure trove. That means we must be getting close.” 

“Or it could just be a weird island animal.”

“Not with that bullion in its pelt. _Ooh_ , I can’t believe it’s really here!”

Donald slid out of Scrooge’s hold and careened back to take in the full picture, his excited uncle and all. It was amusing, admirable, even, to witness the smarmy exterior of the world’s richest duck break down into giddy laughter more suitable for a duckling. He stifled his own laughter behind his hand at the sight; little moments like this reminded him of why he put up with his uncle in the first place, no matter if there were endless things he wanted to say and do, but never could. 

Abating his negative thoughts, he quietly pulled out his personal camera to steal the moment behind its lens. 

“Nephew, do me a favor, will you?”

“You mean on top of the favor that is this entire trip?”

He positioned the viewfinder to balance the two subjects and fidgeted with various settings, all the while maintaining focus on Scrooge’s shifting body language.

“Grab my net from the bag. I bet even just a hair will sell for millions—imagine bringing back the whole thing!”

“Wait, what?”

Donald’s finger slipped on the shutter release before he could finish adjusting the camera, accidentally setting off the flash and audible sound effects. When he cleared his vision of the blinding light in his eyes Scrooge was there to occupy it in its entirety.

“You peabrained sumph, what are you doing!?”

Scrooge teetered so aggressively into him that he almost fell back.

“I was just—”

“Just what? Trying to turn me into a poor old man by scaring off my goods?”

Distracted by an intensifying glow in the distance, Donald peeked around his uncle and caught wind of something approaching them.

“Uh, Unk...”

“I have to do everything myself.”

Scrooge turned on his heels to fiddle with the bag’s pouches, giving Donald a clear image of what was a possibly-mythological-but-definitely-enraged creature headed straight toward them.

“Uncle Scrooge, we gotta go!”

“After I take care of—hey, my net!”

Not willing to waste another millisecond, Donald latched onto his uncle’s arm and pulled him into a sprint up the terrain, uncaring to whatever items he left behind. The blood pumping in his ears competed with the sound of an ungodly cry behind them, something he assumed came from the guardian creature but had no intention of confirming. He kept his sights on the path in front of him firm and his hold on his uncle firmer, putting as much energy into the run as possible and betting on his life that it was enough distance. His lungs burned and his feet ached with every leap across the land, but he wouldn’t dare stop. Even if his back broke from the pack slamming against his spine, he had to make sure they were in the clear.

“Just, a little more,” he panted as they rounded a corner to the next area.

Numerous holes in the mountainside flew by him, but none he was satisfied with. He was searching for something secluded enough from wild eyes without veering too much off-course. Something to be safe in, not lost.

But truthfully, he had no idea where he was going.

“Donald, Donald stop,” Scrooge urged in breathless increments. “It’s gone.”

The annoyance in his uncle’s voice stirred him up and only drove him to keep going.

“No way, we’re almost, at the checkpoint.”

Another strange sound rang out behind him, but just as he was about to cock his head to the side to investigate, his body was hurled sideways against the terrain. He went down in a frenzied roll and the world went with him, dizzying him so badly he had to shut his eyes or risk upchucking his entire day’s worth of food. His body came to a stop, miraculously protected from lacerating rockwall by the sack on his back. It gave him a newfound appreciation for being his uncle’s packmule, even if the literal rough-and-tumble accidents were getting on his nerves.

He swiped debris off his legs as he hobbled to his feet and assessed their surroundings. They were in some sort of alcove, plenty far from where they started, and he could neither see nor hear the animal. His backpack didn’t feel like anything broke, and neither did his bones, which was always a good sign. Scrooge also looked unhurt as he reclined on a nearby stone pile. He deflated in relief.

“Alright, maybe I overreacted,” he admitted after clearing his pipes and regaining his balance, “but you didn’t need to throw me around like that.”

“One of us has to compensate for your foolishness.”

The straightforward nature of his uncle’s words cut through him with a guilt-addled knife and he rushed over in hopes it would clear his conscience. Scrooge looked as beaten up as Donald felt, and he was surprised when his aiding hands weren’t shoved away. In truth, it seemed that he was leaning into the touch, relying on Donald in earnest. It made his breath hitch again.

“You okay?” he inquired softly.

He selfishly held on, creeping an arm ever so slightly around his uncle and using the situation to mask his intent as he kneaded through old feathers. Chaste contact. Harmless touch.

“Nephew...”

His stomach flipped.

“Yeah?”

Scrooge looked directly into his eyes in a way he hadn’t seen before. He swallowed down a lump of anxiety in anticipation despite his barren throat, clearing his mind as if it could be read.

“You owe me a net _and_ a priceless island beast!” 

He jabbed Donald in the sternum with his walking stick and proceeded to step out of their small haven. 

The hopeful fantasies of his uncle’s reciprocity flitted off as quickly as they came, and Donald was left to mentally wrestle with his vices. 

“That thing could’ve killed us, no way I was gonna help you capture it!” Donald refuted. “I saved _your_ hide this time. I say we’re even now.”

Scrooge offered nothing more than a displeased grunt as he dusted off his coat and fixed himself for hiking. 

“I’ll consider striking it from your debt only because that insufferable detour actually got us closer to our destination. We may be able to take our time now and see what else I can cash in.”

Donald rolled his eyes at the tail end of Scrooge’s suggestion but he allowed it in favor of everything that preceded it.

“Do you really mean it?”

“Only if you swear not to pull another stunt on this mission, because if so, I’m adding the damage to your debt plus interest for every day you’ve been on this planet.” 

He knew it was a threat, but the grandiosity of it made his uncle sound like a comic book villain, and he couldn’t help but smile ear-to-ear.

“Yes, sir, I swear.”

Scrooge shot him a stink eyed side glance before pressing onward.

“And leave the rarities to me. No pictures until _after_ they've been collected.”

“Sure thing.” Donald hopped to his uncle’s side and carried on as usual, allowing a few seconds of quietude before speaking up again. “Aren't you at least a little impressed by how much closer I got us?”

He playfully elbowed his uncle in the arm, hoping it would coax the lighthearted duck out of him from the previous encounter.

“Yeah, I'm impressed.”

Fireworks shot off in the back of his mind as he eagerly leaned forward in shock.

 _“_ Real— _oomf!?_ ”

Scrooge pinched his beak shut and tossed a crooked smile his way.

“Impressed you survived childhood!”

With a single harsh pull he let go, turning Donald's beak into a used diving board. When the vibrations stopped he rubbed the sting out of his mandible and crossed his arms as the chortle in his uncle's belly crescendoed.

“Very funny,” he droned.

“Ahh, yes, I thought so.” Scrooge flicked his index finger at the corners of his eyes before urging Donald along with his cane. “Now, let's move on.”

His uncle picked up pace ahead of him, nearly bouncing in his step as his tail wagged about, and Donald was back where he started. Minutes faded into an hour, then another, and another, with Donald at the mercy of time’s cruel passage. Few occasions stood out among the mundanity of their trek, most notably in the snapshots of island life he could never bring home, but every so often amid his uncle's lectures he would pocket a little memory to savor later. Sometimes it was a not-so-accidental brush of the hands, other times it was simply the visage of his uncle and all he had to offer. If time was the driving force to which he fell victim, then it was his own headspace and his uncle Scrooge that were the instruments of torture.

As his feet dragged on, Donald would peer up to unexpectedly find his uncle’s backside in plain view, protruding in his direction like he meant it all along. It had to be suspicious, at least a bit unusual, he thought. It wasn’t like Scrooge to move in such an...alluring way, exaggerating his body as if for show. There had to be a reason. He was being tested somehow, agitated and worked up like a cooked duck, though for what reason he couldn’t say. He wondered if they were engaged in some sort of dance, their actions playing off of one another just enough to propel them through the night without either one needing to say it. At least, that was how it appeared to him. He wasn't so sure he wanted his uncle to know the truth, or more desasterously, return the feelings. It wasn’t like it was his fault his uncle chose to taunt him, so he couldn’t be blamed for what's become of him. He couldn’t be blamed for wanting to feel up his uncle and explore all the spots that would have him wrapped around his finger, day in and day out with no end in sight.

If there was anyone who should've been held responsible for their actions, it was his uncle.

“We'll stop here,” Scrooge declared while patting the young duck’s stuffed backpack. 

Donald rubbed his tired eyes in an effort to refresh his body and erase his mind, and when he opened them to their destination his beak flapped agape in wonder. 

The two of them stood at the entrance of an elevated grotto tucked away in the mountainside. Manmade ruins were carved into the earth, evidence of ancient civilization that had been reclaimed by mother nature. Patches of stone lined the grassy flooring, the bulk of which led to something at the opposite end, and Donald wasted no time to follow it. He hopped from stone to stone until he reached a small body of water pooling down the jagged cliffside. It created a gentle air of ambient sound to complement the active forest nightlife below. 

“This place is gorgeous,” he commented, his face mere inches from crystalline blues.

He turned back to the grotto’s center, where moonlight poured in from a hole in the cavern roof and granted them access to a deep purple canvas splattered with stars. He stepped into its spotlight and stretched his hand out over them. 

“They look so close.”

“You act as if you’ve never seen the sky before.”

Scrooge’s voice at his neck startled him into jumping several embarrassing feet away.

“ _Wak_ —don’t scare me like that!” he complained clutching his chest.

“Oh, don’t be such an ugly duckling. Why don’t you set the tent up instead?” 

Donald paused as he placed his backpack on the ground. “By myself?”

“You’re perfectly capable. Besides, I want to take a good look at the rest of our trail for tomorrow.”

His heart sank as Scrooge walked away, though he knew it was a silly reaction. He really was a fool.

“You know where to find me,” he sighed. His uncle responded with a simple thumbs-up.

Donald started removing as many necessary items from the bag—miniature table lantern, poles, vestibule, quilted groundsheet—and quickly got to work. It wasn’t that the job was particularly difficult, in fact it was second nature to him after so many trips, but he had preferred to keep some company while he did it, even if that company was miserable. They could talk about finances, berate each other over the smallest non-issues, anything to make the tedium more bearable. Oh well.

The night grew darker, and his existence more solitary. When the last piece of their deluxe tent was in place, he kindled the table lamp and threw himself inside. The built-in quilting of the tent floor preserved body heat and, despite the bumpy surface underneath, was actually quite comfortable. It didn’t hold a candle to any of the beds back in Duckburg, and he’d still trade cleaning Scrooge’s depth gauge with a toothbrush over this experience, but it wasn’t too bad.

Feeling a wash of relief and comfort over his achy soul, he decided to spend the rest of his time in wait by looking over some of the day’s photos. His camera wasn’t the best, he’d admit, but he liked to think he made up for it in raw skill, validated as he scrolled through the photos. He beamed with pride over the work he had accomplished on such an erratic trip, and he was about to call it a night until he made it to his photo of Scrooge and the unknown creature. He stared at it in disbelief. The flash happened to illuminate Scrooge’s side perfectly, but it created such a strong glare on the creature that it was almost incomprehensible. When he squinted, it looked like his uncle was just standing in a forest smiling at a bright yellow ball that vaguely resembled an animal. He couldn’t stop himself from breaking out into laughter. It was his worst shot by far. 

But he liked it the most. 

“What’s so funny?”

Donald lifted his eyes to Scrooge bending his torso through the tent—and his chest fluff now exposed from the dip in his coat.

He bowed his head in embarrassment as Scrooge stepped in.

“Nothing, just looking over some photos.”

“The ones before or after you scared off my prize?” 

Scrooge lowered to the ground next to him and shoved his beak in his personal space. Donald’s face grew hot for a moment until he refocused on the camera in his hands.

“Before. Right before, actually. Look.”

He tilted the digital screen to his uncle, whose eyes lit up with a flurry of emotions.

“ _Baawh_ , what I could’ve made off of that thing!”

Scrooge dramatically threw himself on Donald and shuddered through a fit of fake tears.

“Oh come on, now you’re the one acting like an ugly duckling!”

He nudged him to the other side of the quilting with his shoulder, but the old man simply crawled back. It didn’t help the resurgence of heat coiling through his body.

“That picture is horrible but at least it's some proof we found it. We can always try again once we collect the infinidiamond.”

Donald whined, defeated. “Give it a rest.”

“The only rest I plan on giving is a full night’s-worth. I’ve got the perfect plan in place for tomorrow, Nephew.”

“Oh?”

“If we sleep now we can get a head start on it.”

Without giving Donald a chance to speak, Scrooge reached over him to extinguish the table lantern and shimmied into his spot on the bedding.

“Oh.”

“And turn that thing off, it’s too bright.”

Donald thumbed over the pixelated image of his uncle frozen in time and groaned in fleeting frustration before flipping the screen black.

“Good night, then.”

He wriggled his body further down the quilting and turned his back to his uncle. With the peaceful world in front of him and his problem behind him, he calmed his weary mind with his surroundings. What started as any other day turned into what felt like a century of disaster, with not one but two brushes with death, but at least within the confines of their tiny abode he felt safe again. The world around them carried on its tune, lulling him to sleep with its harmony of song. His thoughts faded with his vision; he could finally rest.

But just as he was about to drift off, something pressed into the small of his back with a groan, followed by a warm hand on his side. 

Donald immediately perked up, snapping his eyes open and twisting his neck to see his uncle shifted closer than ever. His plumage stuck on ends as the shared body heat overwhelmed him. It wasn’t the first time they had used each other like body pillows, their figures were built for it, but those had all been neutral occurrences. He never thought twice of them. The way Scrooge was sleeping beside him now, practically spooning him and cuddling up like a kitten...

It was already wreaking havoc between his legs.

“Stopitstopitstopit.” 

He jammed his eyes shut and whispered in a mantra, trying to divert his shame's attention with wholesome thoughts. But no matter where his mind traveled, it kept returning to Scrooge. Climbing the island’s ledges, his rear in his face swaying to and fro. His uncle’s lingering touches, even after a day of disappointing the old man. The way he looked at him when he’d exhausted his grumpy facade. It was driving Donald up a wall. The whole trip, the whole month, the whole past several years at the mercy of his uncle Scrooge had been slowly backing him into a corner with no way out.

Although, there was one temporary way out, he heard an impish voice remind him. One he reserved for private time.

“No, _no_ ,” he protested almost directly to his rising drakehood. “This is stupid.”

He peered down at his uncle’s sleeping face—a face that was too peaceful for a man causing him so much suffering—and held his breath at the rush of unsolicited thoughts. But even as they ambushed him, he felt no desire to disperse them. Rather, he found himself entertaining quite a few of them. 

His lungs finally emptied as he landed on a particular idea.

“Damnit.”

He slithered a palm toward his expanding girth and shut his eyes tight as he curled his fingers around it. His teeth nearly sliced open his tongue just to hold back a desperate whine at the sensation of touching himself after what felt like eons. Nothing in his mind centered, too busy concentrating on staying quiet while rapidly cycling through images of Scrooge and all the chances he would never take. His hand shook with every stroke, so much so that he couldn’t say whether or not it felt good but only that it had to be done. He had to get rid of the fire in the pit of his stomach or he’d never sleep that night. 

The slumbering drake beside him shifted, ripping Donald out of his session and shooting his eyes wide open at his company. He maneuvered both hands over his shame as a precaution, mentally cursing himself at the way it throbbed against his palms on contact. Several unrelenting seconds passed and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his eyes scanning Scrooge as an extra measure. When he deemed it safe to continue, he adjusted his position, inadvertently bumping his uncle’s hand with his own. It nearly flung him into a state of panic, but nothing came of it, only another obnoxious pulsation from his heart down to his groin. He narrowed his eyes as he resumed his ministrations and let his mind wander. His gaze fluttered from his member back to his uncle’s hand where his thoughts traveled deeper.

He froze, startled by his own fantasy.

A brief spark of heady desire was enough to fan the flame of impulse already growing inside him, and against all inner denial he reached for his uncle’s hand with his own. He lifted it by the wrist, watching in awe at how limp it hung in the air and how easily it was to control as he pleased. He dragged it along his stomach fluff, edging closer and closer to his most sensitive feathers. By some miracle the man who needed his own bolted worry room was sleeping without a care in the world beside him, completely unawares to his lecherous scheming. The man with more targets on his back than a criminal bounty, who by all accounts should be sleeping with a shotgun, was cuddled up next to him instead. Of all the people and all the situations possible, it was Donald, there and then, who he decided to trust enough into a heavy slumber. Trust that was like moving mountains to earn but could be taken away in a snap.

He shook his head in an attempt to rid the notion from his muddied head.

From the underside of his stomach he reached the base of his erection with his uncle's hand and stilled, allowing a few fingers to come into contact with dry skin. He couldn't risk getting a single drop of evidence on Scrooge's hand, but his impulses begged him to sate his curiosity. Surely there was something better than this. His gaze hovered there, waiting for the sensation to become pleasurable as he guided Scrooge's hand like a puppeteer. He wondered what would happen if his uncle were to wake up now, bearing witness to his crime. The old miser could realize what was going on and wallop him all the way back to Duckburg where they'd never speak again. Or he could finally fess up to his own mischievous behavior and spend one of countless nights letting go of everything that ever held them back.

“Not like this,” he groaned against his shoulder and halted his strokes.

Betrayed by his own thoughts, he returned Scrooge’s hand and pushed down any urges to finish what he had started even at the mercy of his painful heat. He almost had to laugh; it was somehow so very Scrooge-like that he’d end up in this mess. It wasn’t the first time his uncle had ruined his plans, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. 

As if to throw salt in the wound that was his retracting lust, he pondered when the seeds of his longing had been planted. How they had been planted. What was it about his bastard of an uncle that drove him to such things? The man would sooner pay him with pennies than respect, so why should he have wasted even a fraction of a thought on him—worse still, _those kinds_ of thoughts? The kind reserved for lovebirds and loonies, not Ducks. And yet, as he took one more glance at his resting uncle, he couldn’t help but feel anchored by his presence. The man had taken from him but provided for him much the same, if not more in his own ways, ways he could neither measure nor explain. He never knew Scrooge to be the generous or reciprocal type, but he also never knew Scrooge to be around others the way he was around Donald. What if all the things he had done up until then were intentional, his own McDuck manner of admission?

He sighed until his chest ached. Only a fool named Donald Duck would ever believe something like that, but he had to find out. Even if it meant going back on his word, he had to at least try.

“Uncle Scrooge, you awake?” he whispered and shook the other man’s shoulder. When it didn’t work, he repeated the actions with ferocity.

“Huh, wha-, what?” 

Scrooge blinked awake, his voice groggy and his body unmoved. Donald could hear his own heartbeat thrum in his ears.

“Um, I wanna talk about something.”

“Now?”

He swallowed hard, preparing a script in his head to no avail. “Uh-huh.”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” 

Scrooge’s voice was becoming increasingly agitated, causing Donald to become decreasingly confident. 

“Yeah, but, um, it’s really important.”

“Spit it out, then.”

Donald paused, his eyes darting around the ruins in an effort to avoid his uncle at all costs. His mouth opened on reflex, but nothing more than a feeble coo released. Five different versions of a script played out in his head, all mixing into each other until they were no longer comprehensible. His throat and mouth dried out. His mind overflowed with noise. His eyes unintentionally locked onto his uncle’s and he lost control.

“I’m really glad this turned into a business trip.”

If he could freeze time to smack himself in the face for his blunder, or better yet, reverse time so he actually did fall to his grave, he would.

Scrooge gawked at him, bleary eyed and incredulous, but it quickly transformed into a self-congratulating smirk.

“Good to hear you’ve still got some sense in that thick skull of yours. Maybe soon you’ll start taking after your old uncle.”

“One can only hope,” he replied with mixed sincerity, ready to leave his body and never return.

“But that could’ve waited until morning!” 

Scrooge scolded him with a surprisingly blunt knock to his head. He winced through the pain and nodded as his uncle eased back down, hoping it marked the end to his chaotic night.

“Won’t happen again.”

“It better not. Now, back to sleep.”

They tossed and turned into more comfortable positions, but as Donald attempted to distance himself, Scrooge pulled him in. There was hardly any space separating them; Donald had to wriggle himself up higher just to make sure his beak didn’t rub against his uncle’s, and even then he didn’t seem to care that they were lying chest-to-chest.

The old bastard was at it again.

“Er, Uncle Scrooge?” Donald began, not sure what he was going to say but hoping to send a message.

“ _Ssh_ , Donald. Sleep.”

Donald pushed out a lengthy breath as he settled into his predicament. He mirrored his uncle and brought his exposed leg over as much of his body as he could. It wasn’t the most pleasant angle, but it was his only option. 

Now he just had to block any and all incoming thoughts.

“G’night, Unk.”

As best he could, Donald relaxed his frame into the cushioning and thought about life back home where things were more somewhat more normal. When this was all over, he could sleep in his own bed, make breakfast in his own kitchen, and lounge about with his favorite book. No worrying about hapless adventures or stingy uncles. Even if they belonged to some of the finest memories occupying his mind. Whatever issue he had he would just bottle it up with the rest of them. He lived this long without confronting it, he could do it again, since clearly that plan backfired. It was never meant to be. No matter how strong the feelings. He was fine with it. Really.

“Nephew,” Scrooge slurred in a sleepy grumble that jolted his heart, “would you please move that dang knee of yours? It’s practically stabbing me.”

Donald hesitantly looked down and blanched. It wasn’t his knee.

Trapped in his uncle’s arms and the clutches of his dangerous mind, he abandoned all hope of ever going to sleep that night.

**Author's Note:**

> [ As always, please drop a comment or kudos, and thanks for reading <3 ]


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